


Someone Breaks Us

by BigBirdSocks



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Captivity, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, Gil Arroyo is Malcolm Bright's Parent, Hospitalization, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Protective Gil Arroyo, Seizures, Sort Of, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, its tough y'all, mostly gil and malcolm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBirdSocks/pseuds/BigBirdSocks
Summary: Malcolm and Gil are kidanpped by someone who Gil only knows by name. The man isn't there to hurt Gil, not physically, he's there to take something from him. Something that looks an awful lot like Malcolm Bright.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly
Comments: 66
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I stole a line from the show to use in the title. No, you can't stop me.
> 
> I did more research than actually write the damn story. Please forgive me if I got something wrong, I'm no doctor ;-;
> 
> I might have enjoyed writing this a little too much to be considered healthy, and I hope you enjoy it just as much.

“A long time ago, Gil Arroyo took someone from me. Someone that I loved very much.” 

Malcolm looked to Gil.

They were in an old building, it seemed as if it had been abandoned for a while, the concrete floor displaying footsteps in the dust. They must have been on at least the third floor because all Malcolm could see beyond the glass of the small window was the grey sky of the early morning. Malcolm wondered how the man, the one holding him in a rusty metal chair by the wrists and ankles, and Gil in cuffs connected to a pipe behind him, had managed to get both of them in here, unconscious. 

“He was just an officer then, and I was a young boy, you see. He found my brother, drugged out of his mind, and decided the best he can do to help is arrest him. _Yeah_ ,”

The man huffed out a laugh when Malcolm looked to Gil again. Gil’s eyes were narrowed, trying to figure it out, to remember. 

“Shocking, I know. Anyway, my big brother went to jail, for possession of drugs. He wasn’t even supposed to be there for more than a year. But, you guessed it, he died. Attacked by other prisoners. One hell of a plot twist, isn’t it? I bet your ass papa here didn’t even know.” 

“No,” Gil spoke quietly, “I know. You’re talking about Aaron Haberman.” Gil tightened his lips, moving his gaze from Malcolm’s eyes to over his shoulder. “And you’re his little brother, Isaac.”

Claps filled the tense silence, Isaac’s gloved hands coming together time and time again, mockingly praising. “Congrats, you figured it out. Not that I didn’t give you all the puzzle pieces, but still.”

Isaac continued fiddling with whatever he was doing behind Malcolm. He couldn’t see him, being tied to the chair and facing Gil, but he was guessing that whatever he was doing, it wasn’t good news for him. 

“Okay, you’re angry,” Gil spoke, panic obviously contained, but barely, “but you’re angry with _me_ , why bring him into it?”

“Because he wants to hurt you,” Malcolm spoke for the first time since he woke up in small room, a profile coming to settle in his mind. “Like you hurt him. And I’m assuming it has something to do with drugs.” 

“A smart one you got here, papa.” Isaac's teasing tone was laced with venom. The sound of a lighter filled Malcolm’s ears, and he thought he might have an idea of what was happening, Gil seemed as if he wasn’t comprehending it. ”Pretty, too.” Something clicked against metal. _A_ _spoon_. “Y’know, took me a long time to get the courage to go through with this. At first, that chick got my attention, the one with curly hair.” Both Malcolm and Gil sat up straighter at the mention of Dani. “Couldn’t go for the big guy, y’know. But then you showed up, Bright boy, and I knew it had to be you. I can see now I made the right choice.”

“You did.” Malcolm assured him quickly, trying to snatch the focus off of his friends with greedy hands. Gil shot him a glare. Isaac laughed as he came around to face Malcolm. “Always the heroes, you cops. Can’t you be worried for yourselves for once in your life?”

Malcolm shook his head, eyeing the belt that Isaac was holding. He was young, around Malcolm’s age, and lean. Thick muscles stretched the fabric of his shirt, black hair looking even darker contrasting with his green eyes. “We don’t get to do that, and you shouldn’t get to do it, either.”

Isaac's eyes took the bait, filling with confusion and curiosity. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re angry, I can see that. Destroyed over the fact that your brother was taken from you, so damaged by it that you couldn’t let it go even after all this time. And I get that, I do. But you’re indulging in it, encouraging yourself to do something that will leave your loved ones with _two_ lost brothers. You’re not thinking about your surroundings, or even your brother, you're thinking about _yourself_. About revenge, that you think will make _you_ feel better, release you from your sorrow. But you know it won’t. Deep down, you know, that whatever you do, it won’t change the past, and it won’t bring you your brother back. Put the belt down, Isaac, we can still talk about this.”

Isaac scoffed, though his eyes shone, gears turning in his head. “What are you? Some kind of shrink?” 

“Profiler, actually,” Malcolm breathed, relieved that his words might actually work to save them from what was about to go down. Isaac didn’t put the belt down, but he also didn’t move closer to Malcolm, thinking over what he said. A moment passed in silence, both of them looking at each other’s eyes, but Malcolm can’t see Isaac making a decision. Not until Gil speaks up. 

“Listen to him, Isaac, put it down.” Gil managed to say through clenched teeth. Isaac’s face twisted in anger, clearly unpleased. He turned to point an accusing finger at Gil. 

“You don’t get to talk, Arroyo. This is your fault, try and remember that when your boy here suffers the consequences.” He turned back to Malcolm and started shoving his sleeve up, wrapping the belt around his arm. Malcolm’s right hand began to tremble. 

“Isaac, listen—“ Malcolm started, only to be cut off as the belt dug painfully into his arm.

“No, _you_ listen! I am done with people telling me that I should let it go, that it’s in the past, that there’s nothing I can do about it now. _There’s always something I can do_ _about it_. I don’t care who gets hurt in the process, as long as someone gets to pay. Do you have any idea what’s it like to lose a brother to drugs, then to jail, then forever? No, you don’t, how could you? You have a perfect life, a perfect history, or else you wouldn’t be working for monsters like _him_.”

Malcolm could only shake his head as Isaac walked behind him to retrieve a syringe. He came back around, holding it up so both Gil and Malcolm could see. Gil started struggling. “You don’t really want to punish him, it’s me you’re angry at, get back at _me_.” Isaac only grinned, going to release the rope bounding Malcolm's left arm.

“Try anything stupid, and I’ll stab papa bear before you can blink, not to mention get out of the chair. _Then_ I’ll inject you. Though I’d really rather you let him watch.” The grin on Isaac’s face grew wider, perfect white teeth twinkling in the sunlight. Malcolm let out a breath through his nose, his arm was starting to feel numb, but he couldn’t shake it in fear that it would frighten Isaac. “Straighten your arm.” Malcolm complied, his hand’s trembling got worse as Isaac slapped the crook of his arm a few times, and he noticed. “Don’t be scared,” Isaac whispered, "you’re gonna like it.”

“What’s in this?” He asked, shakily staring at the syringe.

“Crack,” 

Gil let out a yell as Isaac injected it.

* * *

Nothing happened at first.

Malcolm flinched as Isaac injected him with the drug, and Gil yelled. Yelled at him to not do this, to punish him, not the kid, not _his_ _kid_.

But Isaac didn’t relent. He took off the belt from his arm, then stepped back to tie his wrist back down, when Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed, resting his head back on the chair. 

“Bright, Bright— Malcolm,” Gil didn’t look at Isaac as he grinned down at him, he focused on Malcolm, begging, _praying_ that he's okay. That Isaac didn’t give him too much. That he won’t give him any more.

“If you hate drug users so much to throw them in jail, you can have all the fun in the world watching pretty boy become one.” Gil turned to look at Isaac's unapologetic smile, shaking with rage. He wanted to lash out, to punch his stupid, arrogant face right off, but he was trapped. Helpless, _useless_.

Malcolm looked up then, and Gil turned his head again, this time with concern painted in his eyes, into his soul.

“Are you okay?” Gil bit his lower lip as he saw his eyes. They were nearly black, the pale blue surrounding the pitch black as a thin loop.

“I’m—‘ Malcolm swallowed. “I’m great.” 

“See,” Isaac said, crooked grin eating at his face, “told ya you were gonna like it.” 

Gil seethed, nostrils flaring, muscles twitching. “If you think I’m not going to get your ass rotting in a cell for this, you’re very, very wrong.” Isaac’s smile only got lighter, as if the idea of life in jail was a child’s play to him.

“You’re not getting anyone, anywhere, until I finish up here. So, my advice, strap in for the ride, it’s going to be a long one."

* * *

Malcolm couldn’t keep track of the time, but he felt the sudden rush of euphoria leave him after what felt like 2 minutes, though in the back of his mind knew must have been at least 10 to 20. All the thoughts of _overdose_ and _heart issues_ and other dangers that came with inserting cocaine were tossed to the back as the amazing feeling took the front seat of his mind. But then it was gone, slipped between his fingers like hot tea, biting and stinging, and he longed for nothing more than to have it back. 

He felt his chest tie in a knot then, painfully tight, and he was sweating and his heart was beating fast and as desperate as a dying fire. 

Malcolm looked to Gil, He saw him bite down on his lip, the way it bent under the pressure. Saw the creases between his eyebrows, the way his nostrils expanded with each breath he took. Most importantly, he saw the pain in his eyes, the worry, as he looked at him, and Malcolm wanted to shy away from the gaze. 

He couldn’t though, so instead he settled on his words to fix the situation.

“It's okay, I’m okay,” he said, even though his chest ached and his heart expanded and compressed in an abnormal rate.

but he saw Gil’s shoulders relax, if just a bit, and that counted as a win.

He had to deal with Isaac, he knew, but he wanted to focus on Gil. On his stupidly thick sweater and his kind eyes. He would ground him, make his chest hurt less, make everything okay again. He believed it, _knew_ it. Gil never let him down before, why start now?

“I need to do something,” Words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, but Malcolm didn’t mind, he really did need to do something. He felt as if he would keep just sitting there he would explode from all the energy and tension building up. “I can’t just sit here. Let me go.”

Isaac laughed. He stood up from the wall he was leaning on and went over to touch Malcolm’s face gingerly. “I know, I know you do. But see, it’s just part of the game. You sit and suffer, Arroyo watches.”

“Don’t touch him.” Gil seemed furious. Malcolm never liked seeing Gil angry. It made him uneasy, especially when it got so bad Gil was grinding his teeth together. 

“What’re you going to do about it, papa bear?” Isaac’s voice danced in the angry silence that followed. 

“Let him go,” Malcolm said. He wasn’t really thinking now, just saying words. “Do whatever you want with me, just let him go, let him find me overdosed in some ditch later, just _let him go_.” 

“Bright—“ 

“So he can go get his cop friends and raid my ass? I don’t think so.” Isaac grabbed a handful of Malcolm’s hair, forcing him to look up at him. “You’re a nice one, shame it had to be you.” He said, and Malcolm could see every crack of his lips, every pore in his skin. Could see how angry he was, how hurt. How he actually thought kidnapping and drugging a stranger would help with the hopelessness. Isaac let go, as if he could feel Malcolm’s mind reaching into his, figuring him out.

Malcolm shook away the stinging feeling, looking away from Gil. He didn’t want to see his concern anymore. He just wanted everything to stop. The ache in his chest and the energetic feeling that had him clenching and unclenching his hands. 

After a while of Gil talking, saying that it’s going to be okay, and that they’ll get out of this, with Isaac laughing in the background, the feelings eased, the drug losing effect. But before Malcolm could feel relieved, he slumped in his chair, exhausted. He closed his eyes as he began to shake and a headache settled in his skull. 

“What’s going on?” Malcolm heard Gil ask, and Isaac answering that he was coming down from the high, but it was pretty foggy, hard to concentrate. 

“‘S cold,” he managed to say. He wanted to hug himself, to get warm.

a hand came to rest on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” Isaac’s voice was almost gentle, but not quite. 

“You’ll get some more tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

Neither of them slept through the night. Isaac has left them shortly after Malcolm had come down completely from the high. It wasn’t even that long, until he came down, 30 minutes, tops. 

Gil had dozed off at times, but with his hands aching behind him and the uncomfortable pipe digging into his back, he didn’t manage to stay asleep. He doubted Malcolm slept at all. Every time he opened his eyes, Malcolm was staring into the wall. 

He never said anything, even when he noticed Gil was awake. He’s silence concerned Gil even more than him not sleeping. Usually, Malcolm was the one to come with the crazy, dramatic plans to get himself out of trouble. Maybe he came up short. Gil sure as hell did.

In the morning, Isaac asked if either of them wanted to go to the bathroom. Malcolm said yes, voice hoarse. Isaac got out a gun and Gil felt himself tense, immediately missing his own. Isaac let Malcolm out of his restrains. Malcolm moved slowly, Isaac pointing the gun to the back of his head. Gil didn’t blame him, with the drugs leaving his body and not shutting his eyes a single time at night, the kid must be exhausted. 

They came back shortly after, Malcolm seemed to drag himself to the chair. Isaac was surprisingly patient. He put his gun away and smiled down at Malcolm when he was all tied down. “Ready for round two?” 

Malcolm shook his head weakly.

“Really? I thought you might be hooked already.” Isaac went to prepare the cocaine. “That’s okay, there’s time.” 

Gil’s dead anger rose up to his throat, threatening to choke him if he didn’t speak.

“He didn’t sleep, let him rest.” Isaac looked up from the desk, eyebrows raised innocently.

“Oh, sorry, I thought you got this by now; you don’t make the rules, _I_ do.”

Gil clenched his jaw. “You’re gonna _kill_ him.” Isaac only shrugged.

“And that’s on you.” 

He came back to face Malcolm with the belt and was about to put it on when Malcolm spoke up.

“Isaac, wait,” the desperation in Malcolm’s voice made Gil heat up with more rage. He didn’t think he could handle Malcolm being desperate. Malcolm was never desperate with criminals. He always knew what to do, what to say. But Malcolm seemed weak now. Broken, almost. Yet he fought. Gil knew he would fight until his last breath, and he hated the fact that he even needed to.

Malcolm swallowed, breathing heavy. “You know, you know this won’t work. _Torturing_ me won’t work. You think you, that you could fix something that’s broken on the inside, by using outside measures. But you’re wrong, okay? Nothing that you do can change what happened, please,” Malcolm begged as Isaac went on with putting the belt on his arm. “ _Please_ , you know it won’t help, you’re not dumb, you can tell that I’m not wrong.” 

“I like you, Malcolm.” Isaac went to get the syringe. “And I’m sorry you have to go through this. But Arroyo has to suffer, and honestly, killing you is just going to be too quick, not satisfying.” He smacked his lips, “no, at least not yet.”

Malcolm tried to struggle, but Gil could see the exhaustion slowing his movements, slowing his mind. He stopped when Isaac came to release his left arm. 

“Put your arm out.” Isaac bent down as Malcolm did as he was asked.

“I’ll do anything you want!” Gil shouted, dread filling him up just as much as the last time he had to see this happen. He knows it sounds pathetic, but he can’t bring himself to care. Malcolm’s in danger, and it was his fault, too. He had to do something, _anything_.

Isaac turned his head to smile at him, and in a second Malcolm’s elbow connected with his temple. Gil jumped, hope blossoming in his chest. Maybe they could get out of this after all. 

Isaac stumbled back, dropping the syringe, and Malcolm tried to grab it, but it was too far, and he was still seated on the chair, ankles tied. He tried freeing his right arm instead, but Isaac had quickly regained his posture, and was bending down to pick up the syringe, anger flashing through his eyes. He grabbed Malcolm's arm, straightening it out even as Malcolm struggled. He shoved the syringe into his vain. 

Malcolm screamed. 

{}{}{}{}{}

Malcolm fell asleep that night, but Gil didn’t. He focused on the melting ice pack balancing on the crook of Malcolm’s arm. 

He didn’t know how he slept with the cold most likely biting his skin. Maybe it was a nice feeling over the burning he must feel from the injection. Gil was about to try and sleep when Malcolm opened his eyes, though Gil didn’t know if he was awake. 

“Kid? You awake?” Gil hesitantly sat up, the cuffs digging into his wrists. 

“I’m awake,” Malcolm said after a moment. Gil lets out a breath, realizing he was readying himself to witness a night terror. Malcolm straightened up, groaning. God, he must be so uncomfortable, not being able to move like that. Gil felt a wave of guilt washing him over him. It’s drowning him, not letting him up for air. Whispering at his ear as he suffocated, maybe on shame, maybe on tears, _look what you got yourselves into._

“It’s not your fault, Gil. He’s... desperate. Angry, hurt. He just wants everything to stop. I get that.” Malcolm looked groggy, and as tired as Gil was, he was fully aware of Malcolm’s words dragging around. But more so on what he was saying.

“You’re not sympathizing with the sadistic, unhinged piece of shit that just injected you twice with drugs, are you?” 

Gil didn’t mean to sound so pissed, and regretted it when Malcolm’s eyes met his. 

Malcolm had come down from the high hours ago, but it left him even more tired, shaky and drowsy. 

Now there was sadness in Malcolm’s eyes. True anguish. 

“I’m sorry Gil.. I’m sorry... you have to see this...” his eyes were closing and Gil’s heart clenched tight. He should be the one apologizing, not that that mattered, because everything that happened, everything that was going to happen, it was all on Gil. It didn’t matter how horrible he felt. Hell, he deserved it. So why was Malcolm apologizing? Why was he even talking to him? 

“Don’t apologize Malcolm, just rest.” Gil could have this conversation with him when he got them out of there. Got Malcolm to safety. 

And so Malcolm closed his eyes and rested his head back and slept. At least until he woke up again an hour later.

* * *

On the third day Isaac brought Malcolm food. Malcolm didn’t want to eat, especially if Gil didn’t get to. Isaac had let Gil have some, and Malcolm could see how embarrassing it was for him to be fed. Then Malcolm had nibbled on some bread, but couldn’t finish even one piece.

Then Isaac took Gil to relieve himself. Malcolm sat quietly as he waited. He needed to go too, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it. He was so tired, so depressed as well. He could feel the bags under his eyes. The anxiety didn’t help either. He could only imagine what his mother and Ainsley were going through, waiting for him to come home. He couldn’t help but disappoint. He tried staying awake, but was dozing off when a gun was shoved into his face. 

“Your turn, handsome.” 

Isaac went to remove his bonds. Then waited for Malcolm to get up. Malcolm couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy. Too heavy. He thought that if he might lift them, he would break from the pressure. 

“Let’s go,” Isaac waved his gun impatiently, and Malcolm wished he could grab it, maybe shoot him in the leg. That would do the trick. But he couldn’t even lift his eyelids all the way through.

Isaac grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him out of the chair. Malcolm fell with a grunt. He tried to get up when Isaac groaned, but could only focus on not throwing up at the moment. Again Isaac grabbed him, this time to pull him up, not letting his shirt go again. He shoved the gun to the back of Malcolm’s head.

“ _Move_.”

Malcolm did. They got as far as outside the door before he vomited. Not that there was much to vomit. He only coughed up bile and spit and a few pieces of bread.

When they got back, Gil had asked if he was alright. Said he could hear the heaving from outside the door. Malcolm nodded numbly as Isaac tied his limbs back to the chair. He then went to prepare another syringe.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.” Gil said, and Malcolm was afraid for a moment that he was speaking to him. Then Isaac appeared on his right side, and Malcolm realized what was happening. Through the fog in his mind that kept him safe, fear found it’s way to the front side. He felt numb tears build up behind his eyes and escape free as Isaac grabbed his right arm, injecting the drug slowly. 

A rush of calmness engulfed him. More than calmness, a feeling that, despite everything, all was right in the world. A smile broke the fall of his tears. He kind of missed the feeling. He knew he sat there for what might look to Gil like hours, but was only 10 to 15 minutes. Gil didn’t speak, or maybe Malcolm just didn’t hear him. But that was okay, he liked the silence, he relished in it. Then it was gone, the rush, the absolute _bliss_.

And without it came the chest pain, the sweating, the fast heartbeat.

And, now new, anger. Anger that he couldn’t keep the feeling of sureness in him. Anger that Isaac wouldn’t let him. 

He suddenly became very aware of his surroundings. The light coming from the window, the dirty concrete floor, the smell of dust in the air, and the newly found rage.

Malcolm snarled, trying to launch himself at Isaac, only to be burned by tight rope. He looked up at Isaac, wishing looks could make others obey your demands. Because all he wanted right now is for another 10 minutes of _that_ _feeling_. Just another 10.

“I need _more_.” 

* * *

Gil was scared. He was only ever this scared once in his life, and that was when Jackie got diagnosed. 

Somehow, seeing Malcolm get hooked on crack was coming close. It was the uncertainty, Gil guessed, that kept him on his toes. Uncertainty that every time Isaac injected him, Malcolm would overdose. The uncertainty that with each hit, Malcolm would want more. 

Now, some of the uncertainty washed away, replaced by terror. _I need more,_ Malcolm said. 

_I need more._

Gil heard Isaac laugh. “Finally, you’re coming around,” Isaac circled Malcolm like a shark, Malcolm following his gaze wherever he could. “So, more, you say?” 

Gil couldn’t take this. If he saw Malcolm being injected one time after another, he thought he might break from the look of easiness on his face. A face of a drug addict.

“Don’t Isaac,” Gil begged. His restraints were digging into his wrists as he leaned forward, looking at his captor with complete despair. 

Isaac shrugged, but Gil couldn’t see the intention behind his eyes. He was playing with them. “If handsome here wants some more, who am I not to give it to him?”

Malcolm looked excited. More than excited. He was buzzing with energy, clenching and unclenching his hands, as his gaze settled on Isaac. His breaths were coming in fast, and Gil swore he could hear his heart beating out of his chest.

“Yes, you’re right.” Malcolm said, body almost shaking with relief that he was going to get another dose. Isaac smiled brightly at him. “I can see you want it. Maybe if you had acted nice yesterday, maybe you would have even gotten it.”

Isaac’s smile grew when he saw Malcolm fill up with rage. He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs wouldn’t let him. 

Gil could only relish in his relief. He wasn’t going to give him a second dose. Malcolm would be fine for now.

In the evening, Isaac returned with antibacterial medicine and another icepack, he got a water bottle and forced Malcolm to swallow the pills. Malcolm looked up at Isaac as he swallowed. Isaac put the ice pack on his arm quietly. 

“It’s not working.” Malcolm stated suddenly, Isaac looked at him blankly. 

“You thought it would, you thought it would make everything better, but it’s not, it doesn’t, does it?” Isaac kept staring. Gil didn’t know if he was listening, his face was so blank. Malcolm bit back a laugh, but couldn’t hide the smile spreading across his face.

“You didn’t listen, and now you know you’re wrong, and it’s destroying you even more. It’s destroying you because if this doesn’t work, then what will?”

Isaac’s face twisted into a grin that sent a sick feeling straight into Gil’s soul. 

Malcolm’s smile fell.

“When Arroyo finds you in a homeless ditch, overdosed and lacking a pulse, I’ll know, and then, then it’ll all be worth it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celebrating my last final test with an early update? Oh hell yeah :)))

The next days went by in a blur. It was the same routine; Isaac brought them food, Malcolm ate less and less. Then he would take them to relieve themselves, even though Malcolm found it harder to move each time. Then he would inject Malcolm and Malcolm would swim in euphoria for about 10 to 15 minutes. Then he would be alert, begging to get out of the chair, begging to be let out for a few minutes so he can release the stress and energy. Then begging for another dose.

Isaac would only watch. Gil’s shoulders would hunch over more and more everyday, losing hope. Then Malcolm would shake uncontrollably, coming down with a headache that slowly persisted even after a few hours. Eventually it never went away. Malcolm would doze off at different hours of the day, but never for long. 

They were there for more than a week when Isaac didn’t show up one morning. 

Gil was lightly asleep when he woke up to metal rattling on the ground. It took him a second to realize it was the chair Malcolm sat on. He sat up, fully alert. Malcolm was still tied to the chair, but his limbs were trying to twist and jerk out of the restraints. His fingers stiffened and held in a weird position. Gil knew what was happening before he looked to Malcolm’s face.

“ _Isaac!_ ” Gil screamed. He breathed in sharply as he saw Malcolm’s face. He was blinking rapidly, his head rocking slightly as he seemed to be struggling to breath. “ _Isaac, he’s seizing!_ ” 

Gil’s own breathing wasn’t much better, he felt as if he was about to choke. If Isaac doesn’t get help now, he might lose his kid, for good. “ _Isaac!_ "

Choking sounds came from Malcolm’s shaking mouth as his head started banging on the back of the chair. 

Gil caught at the sound of hurrying footsteps, and he focused on them, it was all he could do to not lose control.

The door opened but Gil didn’t look to it, all he could see was his kid’s shaking, jerking form. 

“Gil!” He knew that voice. He looked up and almost collapsed when he saw Dani, staring at Malcolm with a gaping mouth, JT burst in a heartbeat later.

“ _Help him!_ ” Gil howled. Both Dani and JT were on Malcolm in seconds, cutting the rope around his ankles and wrists, calling a bus. Then they were lowering him to the ground as he kept vibreting, choking sounds escaping in a quick pattern. JT moved to release Gil from his handcuffs. 

“What the hell happened?” JT’s gruff voice didn’t register. All Gil could see was Dani taking of her jacket and placing it under Malcolm’s head, gently but fast. As soon as the cuffs came off, Gil was by Malcolm’s side, turning him on his side and smoothing back his hair. Now that he was free off the restraints, Malcolm’s hands lifted and tightened in an awkward way. Gil could barely hold back his own shaking, his breathing trembled in his throat, and he swallowed hard. 

“Bus?” He looked to Dani, his hand never leaving Malcolm’s hair. 

“They said ten minutes,” Dani looked at her phone, “it’s been two.”

Gil growled and looked back at Malcolm’s fluttering eyes as JT settled on his other side, looking at him with uncertainty. 

Malcolm’s limbs shifted, but kept on shaking.

A minute later, Malcolm stopped jerking and fell into a still position, except for heavy breathing expanding his chest. Gil shushed and cooed and said that he was okay, but Malcolm didn’t respond. 

“What happened, Gil?” Gil had never heard Dani’s voice so gentle. Her hand hovered above the injections sites on Malcolm’s arm.

“It’s my fault.” Is all he could think to say as Malcolm breathing eased. His eyes were still open, the traces of the seizure making him drowsy.

“It can’t be—“ 

“He _drugged_ him.” Gil’s eyes burned, rage rekindling deep within his stomach. It turned and tightened, making him breath in a way that concerned both Dani and JT. He wanted to find Isaac, he needed to be the one interrogate him, to make sure he never saw the light of day again. “Where is he? Isaac Haberman? How did you find us?”

JT set back into police mode and spoke as if he was on autopilot, without emotion, but Gil could see that as the puzzle pieces were coming together, so was JT’s walls cracking.

“Caught him during a drug deal. He said that he got you guys, that if they won’t let him go, he wouldn’t say where you are.” JT’s eyes shone as he spoke, looking straight at Gil as if avoiding Malcolm.

“We cut him a deal—“

“Gil,” Gil tore his eyes away from JT and down to Malcolm. For a second he thought he might have imagined it, but then Malcolm twisted, sluggishly trying to get up.

“Hey, take it easy, hey,” Gil breathed, pushing his shoulders gently to the ground, easing him into laying on his back. 

“Where’s the goddamn bus?” 

As if on cue, paramedics came into the room. Dani and JT got up and stepped back. Gil held onto Malcolm’s hand.

The paramedics got to either side of Malcolm. They shone flashlights into his eyes and prodded at the injection sites.

“He had a seizure,” Gil cast a pleading look towards the medics, willing them to fix his kid. 

“We know,” one of them said, “what’s he been injected with?”

Gil swallowed. “Cocaine.” It was a struggle to say, as if not saying it would make it not real. The paramedics nodded, then went to move him to the stretcher. Malcolm was awake and aware now, but seemed tired. Still he tried to get up.

“I can walk, it’s fine,” Malcolm said, but his voice was sluggish and drained. Gil didn’t believe him.

“Not a chance, Bright, you’re gonna lie down and rest. That’s an order.” 

He seemed too tired to fight, so he lay back down and let them put him on the stretcher. The paramedics lifted him up, and Gil had to let go of his hand.

They carried him down the stairs slowly, Gil, Dani and JT following closely behind. Gil looked to them. Dani’s face were as pale as a ghost, JT holding her shoulder tightly. Gil blinked, thoughts other than Malcolm and his safety now piercing his mind. 

_Cocaine_. Isaac drugged Malcolm with _cocaine_. 

Dani was shaking when Gil turned to her at the bottom of the stairs. He put his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. But with nothing to say, he closed his eyes tight and went in for a hug. Dani hung onto him. 

“We were so scared, Gil,” she said. “And I can’t even imagine—“ Gil shushed her. 

“You found us, it’s okay. Hey,” He leaned back to look at her, eyebrows raised “He’s going to be okay.” 

Given Dani’s rocky past with drugs, _cocaine_ , especially, Gil didn’t know if she believed him. Gil wanted stay with her, but one of the paramedics came and said one could ride with them in the ambulance. Gil squeezed Dani’s arm, and she nodded.

“Meet me there,” Gil looked to JT, which nodded stiffly. Dani grabbed Gil’s hand before he could turn around. 

“What about you, Gil? You need to be checked out too,” 

“I’m fine, he didn’t touch me.” Gil reassured her, and she let go, nodding, but biting her lip, as if holding back tears.

He got into the ambulance and sat down. Malcolm seemed much more awake now, and he sighed in relief when he saw him. 

“Gil,” he breathed, and Gil took his hand. “I can go in a car, you know.” Gil wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. Instead he shut it all inside, put on a cool face, as much as he could manage, and said _no_.

{}{}{}{}

Jessica burst into the hall of the hospital in a flurry of clicking high-heels and frightened shouts. 

“Where is he? _Where’s Malcolm Bright_?” 

Gil was beside her before he could comprehend that he was moving. Putting his hand to her shoulder and squeezing. She turned, probably about to shout his head off, then startled. 

“Gil!” She put her hand to her mouth.

Gil hadn’t had a chance to look himself in the mirror, but he had no doubt that he looked like absolute crap. “Oh!” Then she had her arms around his neck and he had his around her torso. 

“You were gone for so long, I- I didn’t know—“ she leaned out of the hug to look at him, blue eyes stared with fear into his bleak ones. 

“Sit down, Jessica,” Gil knew he looked grim. Maybe even too grim. He knew it made Jessica’s heart beat faster. He couldn’t help it. This whole situation has been so exhausting, so emotionally draining, and he couldn’t hold himself together, couldn’t be strong for her even though he wanted nothing more.

Jessica sat. 

“Malcolm’s been injected,” He breathed hard, closing his eyes. “With cocaine. Everyday we were there.” Jessica stammered, shocked. Opening his eyes to look at her, Gil saw the color draining out of her face. He wanted to hold her close, to tell her that her son is okay, that everything’s okay. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. The shame took over him, wrapping him in a thick, hot blanket. He wants to sink into it, to feel the guilt. He deserves it. He let her down, let Malcolm down.

Jessica’s hand rested on his, and Gil locked his eyes with scared, but sympathetic ones. He didn’t understand why she's offering him sympathy, he put her son in danger. He got him drugged, seizing, and in a hospital. 

“Jess,” he choked, “I”m so- I’m _so_ sorry.” Jessica shook her head, barely holding back tears. 

“You did what you could. I know you did.” Her voice was low, quiet. Gil nodded, not convinced, but appreciating. 

“Where is he now?”

“They’re doing tests, he was— he was seizing when they found us.” 

“ _Seizing_?” Jessica’s terror almost threw Gil off the chair. He sat tight, bracing himself for the questions that were about to hit him, or maybe a slap. But then a doctor was approaching them and Jessica was up on her feet and so was he.

“Malcolm Bright?” The doctor asked. She was younger than Gil, had pretty red hair, and an all-around calming presence. 

Gil found himself slightly relaxing when she smiled at them.

“How is he?” Jessica had a hard time holding back her concern. Hands coming to her chest as if she was expecting the worst. 

“He’s okay,” the doctor, Dr. Ebben, as her name tag showed, smiled gently. “He’s awake, and responsive. He suffered a Tonic-Clonic seizure, but it wasn’t because he overdosed, it can happen sometimes when abusing cocaine. We did an electroencephalogram test to see if there was any other cause, we didn’t find anything.”

Jessica let out a breath. Gil held onto his.

“Other than the fact that he’s dehydrated and undernourished, and has an infection on one arm, we don’t see a reason to keep him here for long. We will keep him just for more tests to see how his blood and heart were affected from the drug.”

Gil looked to Jessica, she seemed frightened, color leaving eyes. 

“What about the heart?” Gil asked. He was pretty sure color was leaving his eyes as well.

“Using cocaine can cause unpleasant effects. It can cause a range of heart issues, including inflammation of heart muscles or inner lining of the heart, as well as other complications. We already took blood, we just need to process it.” 

Neither Gil or Jessica said anything, just sulked in silence with the heavy information weighting it down.

Dr. Ebben smiled softly again. “I can take you to him now.”

{}{}{}{}{}{}

It was chilly in the room, the AC on full blast. Malcolm was seated up in bed, staring out of the window into the buzzing life below. There was a bottle half filled with water on the nightstand next to the bed. Gil had already drank, and Isaac had given him more water than he gave Malcolm, yet he still felt his throat turn scratchy. He ignored it. Malcolm turned to face Gil and Jessica as they got in, his face losing the battle of staying calm when his eyes landed on his mother. 

“Mom,” he says, reaching his left hand out to her, only to stop halfway through straightening it, Jessica freezes while making her way to him, as she sees the swelled up injection site. Malcolm notices and hugs his arm to his stomach. Jessica let out a sorrowful sigh and comes to his side. She hugs him. She hugs him so tightly yet so gently, as carful as a mother holding a baby. 

“My darling,” she whispers, and Gil has to look away as she starts crying. 

“ _I’m so sorry_ ,” Malcolm almost begs, clutching at her sides. She abruptly let’s go, looking at her son with stern eyebrows, careful not to raise her voice but not quite managing it.

“No,” She says, and Gil thought he heard actual rage pass in her voice, though maybe it was just anguish. “This is not your fault. I will tear the bastard that did this part by part, but if you ever feel even slightly guilty about this, I will _ground you._ ” Malcolm let out a choked chuckle as he pressed his head against her chest once more. 

Gil swallowed. He felt uncomfortable, sure, but even more so he wanted to stay by Malcolm’s side for the rest of his life. He knew it was the fact that Malcolm was by his side at all that they got into this mess, but he couldn’t help but feel obligated to stay. To make sure he was fine, truly fine.

The images of Malcolm having a seizure right in front of his face, just out side of reach, while he sat there, trapped and useless, didn’t leave his mind. They clawed at his throat and climbed down to his soul, scratching and bruising. The complete horror of it remained behind his eyes every time he closed them, and he didn’t even want to think about going home after this, alone with his thoughts, with the memories.

His name being called out shook him into reality, and he looked to Malcolm.

“Gil, are you okay?” Gil almost laughed. _am I okay? Kid look at you_. But he forced a smile, though it probably came off as a grimace. 

“I’m fine,” He managed. 

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Malcolm tried to reason, “sit down, or go home.” Gil shook his head.

“I should keep an eye on you.” 

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “There are nurses for that. Gil, you look awful, go home and rest. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Gill hesitated. Maybe he should leave, maybe the farther away from Malcolm he was, the better. He closed his eyes. _And he did feel like crap_. He sighed, irritated. Then, slowly, nodded. 

Malcolm eye’s seemed to lose some the tension in them. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Malcolm assured him. And Gil left, feeling guilt settle in his stomach, threatening to come up and choke him.

{}{}{}

Everything turned out fine. It was a miracle, really. the seizure was most likely a one time thing, his heart functioned okay, no inflammations or diseases, and he was being released the morning after. 

So why was Gil feeling like something was off?

He was waiting inside the hospital room as Malcolm changed clothes in the bathroom. He fought the urge to stay away from the hospital, from Malcolm, when Jessica called, asking him to come pick him up and drive him home safely. 

_Safely_.

He wasn’t sure he could do that after the situation he got them into. Still, he came, longing to see Malcolm standing and walking and functioning.

But Malcolm was quiet. Too quiet. And even though he used to see the kid sleep-deprived, the waves of tiredness radiating off of Malcolm were unsettling.

As soon as Malcolm got out of the bathroom Gil turned his worried glance at him. “I have a question.” Malcolm raised his eyebrows, but his eyelids didn’t stretch up.

“Do you...” Gil swallowed nervously. “Still have cravings?” Malcolm was taken aback, staring at Gil with wide eyes, then quickly shook his head, looking at the ground.

_Yeah, something was definitely off_. 

Maybe it’s just the withdrawal taking effect. He hasn’t been injected for two days now. He remembered Dani while she went through withdrawal, she was tired and aggressive. A little panicky. 

Malcolm was just so terribly quiet.

He didn’t push on it though. Thinking it would make it worse if he brought it up.

That was his first mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

He made his second one a week later. 

Gil had been to Malcolm’s place everyday since he go discharged from the hospital, but with everyday that he went, he felt more and more unwelcome. Malcolm would sit, stiff and silent, as if he couldn’t wait for Gil to leave. 

Sometimes he was shaky, more-than-usual shaky. But most of the time he seemed depressed, his eyes were losing their pale blue, his movements didn’t have electricity in them, and Gil couldn’t help but suspect.

One time he searched his apartment, each and every kitchen drawer, his bathroom, under the mattress, Malcolm hovering behind him, face unreadable. But Gil couldn’t find anything. So when he asked Malcolm again if he was using, and Malcolm said no, he sighed and chalked it up to withdrawal symptoms.

But when he called Malcolm a few days later, asking him to come to a crime scene, thinking it would cheer the kid up, and Malcolm said no, sounding breathy over the phone, he knew. He knew Malcolm was back on it. Maybe even right after he was released. 

Gil pounded on Malcolm’s door, having left the crime scene as soon as he could. When Malcolm groggily opened it, he grabbed him, maybe more harshly than he should have, pushed him inside, and started lifting his sleeves up. Malcolm struggled, trying to push him off.

“Gil, what the— hey, no, _Don’t_ —!” 

While his left arm was healing nicely from the infection, Malcolm’s right one was full of injection sites, red and ugly and _new_.

Gil let him go.

“Kid...” 

Malcolm stood, defeated, his head to his chest, when he started shaking. He brought his arms up around himself and slowly sat down on the floor. Gil didn’t realize Malcolm was crying until a sob rocked his all body forward. _Oh, kid._

Gil lowered himself to his knees, wanting to hold Malcolm but afraid to scare him off. He instead settled on a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Malcolm, listen to me," Gil’s voice was trembling, he steadied it as best he could. “Listen, we’ll get through this, we’ll get you out of this.” 

When Malcolm’s shaking didn’t subside, he went in for a hug, holding him close. This was all too familiar, and he found himself thinking about Dani, about her breakdowns, not unlike this one, and about her recovery. He latched his hands onto the hope that he felt when he thought of her, of the way she got out of the same situation, and he didn’t let it go.

“Sorry, Gil, I’m _sorry_.”

Gil’s chest tightened, heart clenching. “Hey, no, no, no, no. Just relax, okay? I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Malcolm nodded to his chest, cries muffled. 

They sat, hugging, for what felt like hours. Until eventually, Malcolm calmed. He was tired. Gil could see it in the way Malcolm didn’t lean back when he did. In the way his eyes fluttered open and shut. In his heavy, steady breaths.

They got up eventually, Gil offering Malcolm a steadying hand. Then he sat Malcolm on the bed and went to find him some clothes. 

Gil set the clothes down on the bed, and sat beside him.

“Where is it?” He asked. When Malcolm didn’t answer, he put his hand on the beck of his neck, squeezing weakly. 

“Malcolm, I need to know.” Malcolm shook his head, he looked as if he was about burst into tears again. 

“I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” 

“Yes you can, Malcolm, you want me to help you, right?” Malcolm nodded. “Then tell me where it is.”

Malcolm’s whole body shook. 

“In the bathroom, in the vent.” He let out a huge breath as he said it, as if a weight had been lifted off his lungs.

Gil bit his lower lip and nodded, patting Malcolm’s neck. He got up to get the drugs, but Malcolm grabbed his arm. He looked him in the eyes, and without moving his mouth, he begged. If he begged for him not to take the drugs, or to help him, or maybe to forgive him, Gil didn’t know, but he _begged_.

“I have to, kid. I have to.” Malcolm let go, his hand trembling. 

Gil opened the vent in the bathroom. He found a dark fabric bag, barely seeable in the blackness of the vent. He opened it and saw basic injection tools; A spoon, a lighter, a few syringes, alcohol and cotton balls... and a small bag with white, rock like powder.

“Jesus,” Gil breathed.

Then Malcolm was in the doorway, and Gil closed the bag. He tried not to show the frustration he felt. If only Malcolm would have come to him and not turned to this.

He shoved the thoughts down. It didn’t matter at the moment. 

“Get dressed, let’s go.” He shoved past him, exiting the bathroom.

“Go where?” Malcolm voice dropped low with concern. 

“Your mother’s house,” Gil took a duffle bag from underneath Malcolm’s bed and started shoving clothes in as Malcolm came behind him in a hurry. 

“Gil, you can’t tell her, she’ll freak out—“ 

“This is _serious_ , Malcolm.” Gil’s voice was as sharp as a razor blade, cutting the air, but he needed to get through to the kid’s head. This wasn’t a game. 

“I- I know it is, Gil, but—“ 

Gil zipped up the bag, turning around and exhaling hard through his nose. 

“Get dressed.”

He made sure to make it sound like an order. Malcolm swallowed. Realizing he had nowhere to go from here, he went to the bathroom with his clothes and shut the door. 

* * *

The car ride was so quiet, it almost hurt. Gil didn’t bother turning on the radio, or talking. Malcolm knew he was pissed. He understood, he would have been pissed, too. But after the way he held him when he broke down, Malcolm thought that maybe Gil wasn’t as hurt as he thought he would be. He realized he was wrong now.

He looked out the window and prepared himself for the arrival at his mother’s house, for her reaction as she learned why he’s been avoiding her. Why he was so detached when she came to visit. 

He was tired. So tired. He knew the time for his next fix was coming in soon. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take it. He knew he would shake and scream and beg, and that they wouldn’t give it to him. 

He also knew Gil and his mother were probably going to throw him into rehab. With every second passing in silence, he feared Gil might not even mind. 

When Gil parked the car in front of the house, Malcolm’s hand trembled harder. His breathing hitched when Gil got out without saying a word. Then Gil opened the door on Malcolm’s side and Malcolm began breathing more heavily. He shut his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

“Let’s go, kid,” Gil’s voice was gentle, all traces of previous anger gone. And Malcolm looked up to see kind eyes staring at him. Gil’s kind eyes. _Maybe he didn’t give up on him after all._

Malcolm got out of the car, trying not to shake with nerves. 

One of his mother’s maids opened the door. 

“Mr. Arroyo, Mr. Bright.” She greeted them as they stepped inside, and Malcolm gave her his best convincing smile. “I’ll go get Jessica.”

“Thank you.” Gil said. He placed a warm hand on Malcolm’s back as they waited, soothing his shaky form.

“Malcolm, and Gil,” Jessica smiled as she descended down the stairs, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” She walked over to them, and halted. Malcolm wouldn’t look at her, as the floor suddenly became very interesting. And with Gil’s hand on his back, the whole stance probably radiated _bad news, bad news._

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Let’s go sit,” Gil said, then he moved, gently pushing Malcolm towards the living area. Jessica’s hands were on Malcolm’s hair suddenly, smoothing it back, then stopped as she felt how sticky it was. Malcolm hadn’t washed it in a few days.

They sat down. Malcolm still wouldn’t look up. Gil sighed next to him. He took the hint that he should start the conversation, because he spoke up.

“Malcolm’s been using.” Malcolm felt his whole body go stiff at the words. Jessica huffs. 

“What? Using? What do you...” then it dawned on her, and Malcolm could feel the air around him get heavy. His shoulders slumped. He still didn’t look up, but he felt a lump in his throat. “Y-you mean like, like...?” He can feel Gil nod, though his hand never leaves Malcolm’s back.

“Jessica,” Gil starts, “you need to understand, he’s been forced into it. He can’t control it, not alone.”

His mother is staring at him in horror, he can feel it. It burns a hole in his scalp and bites his mind. His head starts to hurt.

“Malcolm,” she says, but she doesn’t sound angry, “sweetie... Look at me.” Malcolm almost does. But he can’t handle the look he’s going to get, the _what have you done_ kind of look, so he turns away. But then there’s a hand on his chin and it moves his face up. He meets his mother’s eyes with what he knows Gil would call a kicked puppy look. Her eyebrows are kissing, but not in an angry way, not in disappointment. In concern. 

He wants to cry again. He doesn’t know if from relief or despair. But then she opens her arms and he’s crawling over Gil and rests his head on her shoulder as she hugs him tight and he wants her to never let go.

“Let me see,” she says, and Malcolm shakes his head against her neck.

“It’s okay, my love, my baby,” she rolls his sleeve up but he’s too focused on the fact that she hasn’t called him her baby ever since he was a child. Then he’s bracing himself for that sharp intake of breath, for the inevitable: how could you do this? Yet it doesn’t come. Instead she whispers, “okay,” and rolls his sleeve back down. “okay,” again. Maybe if she says it one more time, he’ll start to believe it. 

“Okay.” 


	5. Chapter 5

His mother and Gil are talking in the far corner of the large living area, and all Malcolm could feel was numb. 

He longs for that feeling, that rush, as they call it, he _craves_ it. But Gil has his stuff, and they’re making phone calls and they’re planning on trapping him in a place he wouldn’t be able to get out of. Malcolm suddenly wants to run for it. He could take the duffle bag and bolt, leave them to their plans and make his own ones. This way he’ll have control. He’ll have that _feeling_. 

Something keeps him in place, though. Maybe it’s the fact that Gil is the Lieutenant of the NYPD and would find him in days. Maybe it’s the fear of running off into the world without anyone there to be by his side. Then he suddenly wishes they would just accept the fact that he needs this. This feeling of peace that he gets every time he injects. Every single time. He knows the drug wouldn’t fail him like he fails himself sometimes, and he just needs that kind of surety in his life. 

His mind brings up his father and he tries to shut the thought out because it just makes him want it more. He never thinks about he’s father when he’s high. Never thinks about the girl in the box, or his night terrors or a certain man that kept him for a week and started this whole mess.

His head is pounding harder every second that passes, and he knows he’s going to need a fix very soon as withdrawal symptoms settle all over his body. He’s restless and annoyed and tired but all he can think about now is how to get his tools back from Gil. He’s smart, he can think of something. 

But Gil is smart also. Malcolm thinks he might have left his tools in the car. All he needs are the keys. 

There are a few ways. One of them is to get Gil distracted and somehow leave his keys out. Probably the most unlikely. 

Another way is to pickpocket Gil. Also very, very unlikely to work. 

This leaves one option. All he needs to do is hurt him just a little. He’ll probably forgive him. Probably.

Malcolm walks over and stands behind Gil.

He’s on his phone.

“Gil,” Malcolm says, and Gil turns around to face him.

His fist connects with Gil’s stomach. The soft material of the sweater he cried on just an hour ago protecting his knuckles from hard friction. Gil doubles over, hands coming around his abdomen as his breath is knocked out of him. Jessica gasps, but Malcolm doesn’t have time to feel guilty or look ashamed. This is his chance, he just needs to grab the keys. He shoves his hand into Gil’s right jeans pocket and takes out the keys, looking at them like he just fished out the biggest fish in the ocean. 

Before he has a chance to turn away Gil grabs his arm, one hand still cradling his stomach. He looks furious. But Malcolm doesn’t have time to think about how Gil had never looked at him like he’s looking at him now. He shakes his hand as hard as he can to get Gil’s grip to loosen up. And it does. He sprints down to the entrance door, the shouts of his mother and father figure disappearing as he closed it behind him.

He’s in the car a moment later, searching for his small kit. His mother is the first out the door, Gil is behind her. Malcolm locks the car as they rush down the stairs. He looks at Gil as he pounds on the window of his LeMans. Now Malcolm does have the time to feel guilty. And he does. He mouths a sincere “sorry,” then goes back to finding his tools. 

“Bright, get out of the car, get out right now or I swear—“ Gil’s muffled voice stops as Malcolm picks up his small kit from under the driver’s seat. He tears into it with excitement electrifying his movements. “Bright! Bright, don’t!” 

But Malcolm can’t hear as he holds the spoon and searches for a bottle of water. There’s one in the cup holder, half empty, but it’ll do. He pours water onto the spoon. The banging on the window doesn’t stop, but he realizes that he can’t hear his mother as he puts some of the powder into the water. He looks to the other window, the one where is mother stands, hands on the window, looking petrified. 

He hesitates. Maybe he should reconsider. Maybe this was a bad idea. No, this definitely was a bed idea. But as another jab of headache, this time accompanied by nausea, hits him, he realizes. He just _has_ too.

He heats up the spoon, puts in cotton, and pulls the drug into a syringe. Gil never stops banging on the door and shouting, so Malcolm looks up at him one more time, says “I really am sorry,” and injects himself.

* * *

A small crowd gathered around his car, talking in hushed voices, asking what’s happening, one of the people was calling 911. All Gil could focus on was the spreading smile on Malcolm’s face. He leaned back in the front seat, closing his eyes, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

Gil put the heels of his hands over his eyes, squeezing, bending over. He had to watch Isaac Haberman inject his kid with drugs for a week. And now, now he just witnessed his kid doing it to himself. 

A lady is asking him if he’s okay, and Gil can’t handle it. He can’t because he’s not okay. Because just _what the fuck was Bright thinking?_ Never mind, he clearly wasn’t thinking at all. The question came again, 

“Sir? Are you okay, sir?”

He straightens up abruptly, flashing his badge in the lady‘s face as she startles back. 

“NYPD! Everyone scatter! Everything is under control!” 

People turn and quickly walk away from the scene, some linger around at the corners of the street, still trying to figure out what was happening. Gil doesn’t look at Malcolm as he crosses to the other side of the car and takes in Jessica. She still has her hands on the window, looking at Malcolm, her face almost unreadable. But he can see cracks of despair in her eyes, in the twitch of her chin. He walks over to her, spares a glance at Malcolm, who had his eyes open now, but didn’t look like he was completely there. 

“Jess,” Gil says, but she doesn’t turn away from the window. 

“Why,” she whispers, “ _why_ would he do that?” Gil sighed.

“He’s addicted, Jessica, he thinks he needs it. He _does_.”

“But _punch_ you?” She looks at him, distress is an understatement when it comes to describing her eyes. “Malcolm would never, he would _never_ —“ 

“Yes, he would. Addicts do whatever they can to get their fix, even turn violent.” He shuts Dani out of his thoughts and looks to Malcolm. 

He looks bad, his face glistening with sweat, doubled over with a hand clutching at his chest. Gil knows that’s normal for him when he’s high, but something’s pinching at his chest, whispering, 

_It’s too soon, something’s wrong._

Then Gil is banging on the door again, shouting at Malcolm to open up. Malcolm looks over at him. He seemed confused and like he can’t fully open his eyes. Then his eyes close and he gags.

“Malcolm!” His throat feels like it’s ripping apart as he shouts, and he barley registers Jessica’s panic, asking him what’s going on.

“He overdosed!” He rasps, “Jessica, _he’s dying!_ ” 

Jessica eyes flatter, mouth falling open but she chokes up on her words. 

Gil reaches for his phone, but realizes he left it on the floor where he dropped it when Malcolm punched him. He grabs Jessica’s arm, pulling her towards the house, but she stays put, looking through the glass at Malcolm, who’s spitting up bile. Gil doesn’t have time to do the same, he whirls around to face her, hands on her shoulders.

“Jessica, listen!” He shakes her a little fiercely when she doesn’t look at him. “ _Listen!_ You need to get into the house and find a hammer! I’m going to call for help!” Jessica’s eyes widen, but set in determination a heartbeat later. She nods, and they both run into the house. Gil goes for his cell phone as Jessica runs upstairs. Then he’s outside again, calling for a bus, they say seven minutes, he growls “three!”, the women on the other line says they are coming as fast as they can and asks what’s happening. Gil tells her about the cocaine in short breathes, then he sees Jessica rushing towards him, a hammer in hand, he hangs up as the women is still asking questions. He grabs the hammer from Jessica’s delicate hand, grips tightly with both hands, shoves away the nagging thought that he’s about to break his own car’s window. And strikes.

Glass flies everywhere. Gil barely registers that some hit Malcolm’s face, his way-too-still face, before he’s pulling him out and laying him on his side. Malcolm’s skin is clammy with sweat and his lips are tinted blue. Gil opens his mouth, pushing bile out so he can breath, distantly thinking that the kid must have not eaten anything today, since there’s nothing in his vomit. 

Jessica is there, beside him, crying and rubbing Malcolm’s shoulder, begging him to wake up. Instead, his back arches forward, his limbs going stiff, and he stops breathing all together.

A beat passes, 

“Malcolm?” so quiet, so broken, so weak it just might be hopeless. 

Another beat,

Jessica’s cries grow louder, “ _Malcolm?_ ” 

Gil doesn’t move. He’s frozen. Eyes on Malcolm as he goes paler, bluer. He’s a deer caught in headlights, a scared little child, and a mourning father all at once. He’s on fire, but he’s numb. He’s drowning but he’s choking on air. His head spins and yet it’s all so... still.

And then Malcolm sucks in a shuddering breath and twitches. And Gil is free. He’s free of the brain death, of the ringing in his ears, of the suffocation. Because Malcolm is moving and breathing and _alive_.

Malcolm shakes as his limbs jerk and go stiff and tremble in weird positions and he’s blinking like a maniac and he’s breathing like he can’t breath and it’s a seizure. 

_A seizure. Again._

All blankness evaporates from his mind as he remembers Dr. Ebben’s words; _He suffered a Tonic-Clonic seizure._

Gil had looked up what that meant. 

In the tonic phase, muscle stiffen, and breathing shallows or stops. 

Gil just missed that part the first time.

He didn’t die. It was a seizure. 

Gil almost cries. He rocks forward, ready to sob, but nothing comes out.

Then reality crashes back on him. 

Malcolm is on his side, twitching with his arms against his chest, his head vibrating as choking noses escape him. Just like the first time. Jessica is losing it next him. She’s been calling Gil’s name but he hadn’t been there. She’s trying to hold Malcolm’s shaking form down, but Gil knows that’s not right.

“Jess, it’s a seizure, don’t hold him down.” He sounds more calm than he feels, he’s less numb now as his muscles begin to burn and ache and shout at him to _move_ , to do _something_. 

But there’s nothing to do but hold his head and wait it out. So he tells Jessica to calm down, to breath deep, and to wait. 

And they do. 

They wait two minutes until the ambulance arrives. Loud, jarring siren drowning Malcolm’s choking breaths. But he doesn’t stop twitching. He doesn’t stop when the paramedics rush in and push Jessica and Gil away.

He doesn’t stop when Jessica’s wails of _he’s my son, he’s my baby!_ Start and Gil has to hold onto her. 

He doesn’t stop when they ask Gil how long he’s been seizing and he says three minutes. 

He doesn’t stop when they start counting two more. 

He doesn’t stop when the two minutes are up. Or when the medics shout “Benzos!” 

But then they inject his shoulder with whatever benzos is and Malcolm stops moving and so does everything else.

Then he’s barely breathing. They put a breathing mask over his nose.

He doesn’t open his eyes. They put him in the back of the ambulance.

He doesn’t move. They shout at Gil and Jessica where they’re taking him.

He doesn’t wake up.

As soon as the ambulance drives off, Jessica is falling, and Gil is catching her. She refuses to go inside, demands he drives them to the hospital. And so they get into the car, Jessica in her pajamas and robe and slippers, Gil in his stoic expression. And as people scramble away, they drive off after the ambulance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so, malcolm probably wouldn't do that, but I am a sucker for drama and well..... that was dramatic :)


	6. Chapter 6

They’re in the hospital, but it’s not like last time. Now they’re in a waiting room, not a hall. Now they’re waiting to hear if their kid would live, not when they can see him. 

Dani and JT come in at some point, and questions fire towards Gil that he can barely catch. 

He’s somehow aware that he’s explaining what Malcolm has been doing for the last week and a half. What he did today.

Dani goes as silent as the underside of the ocean, then sits down as if the breath had been knocked out of her. 

“I should have known,” she says and Gil is shaking his head and telling her that she couldn’t have.

“I’ve been there, Gil. I know how addicting it is, I know how much you need it, how you can’t stop.” Dani’s voice breaks, her face twists and her head is in her hands. JT sits besides her but Gil is hugging her before he has a chance to go in.

“You couldn’t have known, however he did it, he was smart about it.” Gil shudders. “He must have taken it at times he knew he was going to be alone. He hid it well, okay? Hey,” Gil wipes her tears with the best smile he can manage, “You got out of this, he will, too.”

Dani nods, and Gil let’s go so JT can place a warm arm around her shoulders. 

Ainsley shows up a few minutes later, and then it’s Jessica’s turn to talk. 

Ainsley looked shaken, she asked a few questions but goes silent as she and her mother hold each other.

Everything is quiet, even as tension makes his ears ring. Gil never found waiting easy. He probably never found anything easy when it came to Malcolm. As they sat there, each with their thoughts, Gil found his mind to be blank. His eyes wandered along the patterned floor, trying to latch onto a thought, any thought that would come, but they kept scrambling away from his grasp. Until his mind came to rest on Jackie. He remembered her clear as day. 

Her smile that burned itself into his heart, never to be forgotten. Her singing voice coming from the kitchen when she baked something special for little Malcolm. The long days at the hospital, petting her hair as it slowly came off. 

He knew that she was up there, watching over him. He knew that she was going to use whatever power she had to watch over Malcolm, too.

He couldn’t pray to her before because it broke him into pieces. But now he had to. For his kid. Their kid.

But before he could start someone calls Malcolm’s name, and everyone stands up in a hurry.

The doctor approaches them, it was the same doctor from before, Gil wrecked his brain for a name until he came up with it. Dr. Ebben. 

“Hello,” she seems less like a calming presence than before. It gets Gil worked up, and he nods his head at her in one stiff motion. 

“Well, first off all, he’s stable.” 

It’s like everyone comes from under water as they all take a deep breath, Jessica is almost toppling over with relief. 

“The seizure _was_ from overdose this time. 

It was our main concern, as it caused respiratory failure. He’s currently in intensive care, supported by a ventilator, it looks scary, but it helps with breathing. Unfortunately, the ECG showed irregular heartbeat, which can mean heart complications. We’re giving him medication to treat it until we can process blood work to figure it out, and are keeping a close eye on him. He’s also on medication to reduce the cocaine toxicity as well as pain meds. We’ll have to do more tests, not unlike last time, to look into further complications.”

She smiles sympathetically at all of them. 

“He might not wake up for another day or two, but you can visit, two at a time.” 

Jessica and Ainsley go first. Dani wants to visit too, and Gil is bouncing his leg as they wait for them to finish.

It‘a an hour later that Ainsley comes out and tells them they should come another day, as they are going to stay a few more hours. Gil shuts his eyes as he thinks about it, but Ainsley is gone before he can tell her that he’s going to stay. Dani is debating it too, but eventually decides that it’s a good idea to go back to work on their new case. It isn’t until she reminds him that he remembers they even have a new case. Gil sighed, changing his mind. Maybe a case would be good for him right now.

{}{}{}{}

A day later he was in Malcolm’s hospital room. 

The doctor was right, it looked terrifying. The ventilator pushing air into Malcolm’s lungs, the IV dripping fluids and medication into his bloodstream because he can’t get them on his own, all the damn tubes and machines, the ECG showing his heartbeat, which wasn’t irregular, but slow. 

Perhaps the most disturbing was how peaceful he looked. With no nightmares to rouse him and no drugs to irritate him, he looked to be sleeping soundly. 

After a while of staring, Gil sat down on the chair next to the bed. He felt like there were a million things to say but none that would would deliver his sorrow and worry, so he settled for saying how much he’s stumped by the case, how he could really use he’s brilliant mind, how the team misses him by their side. 

He tells him he’ll get through this. That he’ll be by his side for every single step while he does. Then, when there’s no response, he sits quietly and watches the mechanical rise and fall of his chest, thinking over all the other things he has to say, like how he’ll be lost without his dumb remarks and awfully big smile, or how the precinct will look empty without his million dollars suits, or how much he loves him. He thinks these things, but doesn’t say them. He doesn’t, because Malcolm isn’t dead.

And if Malcolm isn’t dead, he can hear them when he wakes up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: sort of a suicidal thought, I guess. It’s not really bad.

The first thing he notices when he wakes up, is that he’s no longer feeling high.

The second thing is that there’s something down his throat. 

He gags before he can open his eyes, hands coming up to rip out whatever is violating him so unapologetically, but his hands move so slowly that someone has the time to catch them. 

The world comes spiraling in on him and he has to register it all while gagging; The bright light stinging his eyes, the noise of a machine beeping loudly in his ear, the hands firmly holding him down, the force of air pushing itself into his lungs.

he doesn’t hear her until he opens his eyes a crack and sees his mother talking.

“You’re okay, Malcolm, you’re alright,”

she doesn’t seem to believe it, her eyes filled to the brim with anxiety. He wants to say something but this _thing_ won’t come out no matter how much he heaves and another force of air makes his chest rise. 

Then his mother is pulled away from him and nurses dance around him, checking his vitals and force his hands to stay still. They’re explaining to him that his on a ventilator, that he’s suffering a respiratory failure, that they can’t take it out yet. 

He focuses as much as he can on his mother and Ainsley who are at the far wall of the room, looking at him with dread. The nurse that is holding his hands is in his face suddenly, talking, and he can’t see them anymore.

“Mr. Bright, I’m going to let go, will you stay still?” 

Malcolm nods slightly, and she moves, Malcolm not moving his hands, as he agreed. He looks at his mother and sister instead, and forces himself to calm down. 

another push of his chest that he doesn’t control makes him clench his fists and shut his eyes so he doesn’t take the tube out. 

When he opens them Dr. Ebben is there, and it all comes crashing back. Injecting himself all week after she told him there are places that can help and he turned her down. Gil finding out. Telling his mom. Punching Gil and locking himself in his car and injecting again. He must have overdosed because the next thing he knows he’s here, with a ventilator tube shoved down his throat. 

Oh. Oh no.

He dares a look at his mother again. She’s seen it happen. She must be so angry with him, so disappointed. But she just looks scared, holding Ainsley’s arm so tightly he wonders how it doesn’t snap.

“Mr. Bright,” Dr. Ebben’s speaks, her eyes softening as he looks up at her.

“I know this must be scary and uncomfortable. You’re suffering a respiratory failure due to the cocaine overdose you injected. the ventilator is helping you breath while your lungs heal. We can’t take it out just yet,” she stops, looking at him with pity. He hates it, so he looks away. “Usually it takes about seven to fourteen days before we can start weaning from a ventilator. It’s been two.” His eyes snap up to her.

Two days. He’s been out for two days, and now he’s going to be stuck in this bed for at least five, if not more. He wants to kick himself because he doesn’t even remember how much powder he put when he injected himself, but it must have a lot, and he wants to scream because he should have been more careful. 

He’s so tired. He’s been tired for a long time. But now he’s exhausted. He wants out of here. He wants home and Sunshine’s chirps. He wants a fix. He hates that he does but it doesn’t matter. 

Dr. Ebben is still talking but he’s not listening anymore. Maybe if he falls asleep they would leave him alone. He doubts it.

He falls asleep anyway.

{}{}{}{}

The next time he wakes up, Dani is on the chair next to his bed, looking at her phone.

His heart starts to pound in misery. He can’t help but feel shame, warm and sticky in his uncontrollable chest. She’s been through the same thing. He knew that. He knew yet he pushed her away. He doesn’t understand why she’s even here, if she found out what he’s been up to. But she is. She is and it’s such a relief that he wants to cry. She doesn’t notice him looking, so he moves his arm until she looks up. She sets her phone down when she locks eyes with him.

“Good morning,” her smile is so soft, so sad, his heart starts aching. He doesn’t want her sad, not because of him. Not at all. 

“Are you in any pain? Blink twice for a yes.”

His chest hurts. He doesn’t blink.

“Okay.” She smiles, then places a hand on his arm. She’s warm against the strong AC and he leans into her touch. He’s about to close his eyes and try to sleep some more when JT steps into the room with coffee. 

“Oh,” He takes a step back. “Should I call a nurse?” Dani shakes her head. 

“Okay,” JT gives Dani her a coffee and sits down next to her.

“How you doing?”

Malcolm answers that with a blink and a forced rise of his chest, and Dani looks at JT with one eyebrow raised, which JT replies to with a twist of his mouth. He lets out a breath, “Right,”

Malcolm would chuckle if he could. 

The thought just sends an uneasy feeling to his gut and he looks away, now wanting JT and Dani to go. He can’t tell them and it hurts him even more. 

His chest is throbbing and he doesn’t think he can do this for much longer. His eyes sting but he’s too tired to cry. His too tired and it keeps tossing his mind back to the rush he gets when he’s high, and the energy he can’t control. Now it’s gone, most likely forever. It makes his body almost squirm with longing. He misses the time he didn’t need it to be content, but somehow misses the explosion of dopamine more. 

But his mind is foggy and his eyes are closing and he can’t concentrate on it anymore. The hiss of the ventilator is buzzing in his ears and Dani’s touch is tickling his skin when he falls asleep again.

{}{}{}{}{}

Next up is Gil, but Malcolm can’t bring himself to look at him. If whatever he felt when Dani was around was guilt, he can’t begin to describe what he’s feeling now. His cravings had only gotten worse and he’s just about ready rip away all of the machines and launch himself off the bed, or maybe just curl up and die. His heart is throbbing against his chest, and each time it falls he prays that it won’t rise up again. 

It was darker in the room then before, but Malcolm couldn’t tell if it was the same day Dani and JT had visited or maybe the day after. Either way it felt as if he didn’t sleep enough.

He shifts in his bed before he can think about it, and Gil is leaning in his chair in one swift move, checking on him. Malcolm still can’t look at him, he thinks he might choke if he did. 

“Kid? You awake?” Malcolm hesitates. He knows Gil won’t raise his voice on him when he’s trapped in a hospital bed, but can’t help but fear that he might. He knows Gil is mad, knows he deserves it. But he also knows he’d break if Gil ever decides to show it. Yell at him, fire him, leave him to rot in a hospital alone. Malcolm couldn’t handle that. Not now. Probably not ever.

Slowly, Malcolm opens his eyes. He’s scared and can hear the heart monitor pick up speed just a bit. Gil notices too and grabs his hand. “I’m going to call a nurse,” he says, but Malcolm pulls on his hand and shakes his head. Gil looks at him, hesitating, he checks the ECG machine again.

“I’ll be right back,” he assures him before rushing out of the door. 

Then he’s alone. He hasn’t been alone since he woke up here. It feels empty, like a void. The thought makes him want to throw up as if the breathing tube wasn’t enough. But he lays still, letting it do it’s job of keeping him alive.

Gil returns with a nurse, but his heart rate has gone down to it’s slower pace, so when she checks up on the machine and finds nothing wrong, she assures him that everything is normal. 

“Are you in pain Mr. Bright?” She asks. Malcolm shakes his head no even though his chest might as well cave in on itself, and looks back to Gil. 

“What was that?” Gil asks once the nurse is gone. Malcolm looks at him and can’t completely digest the fact that he’s not here to rip him apart for all that he’s done. He’s here to support him, to be by his side. Malcolm’s eyebrows pinched together, sad, and he closed his eyes. 

“Hey,” Gil cooed, “What is it? Are you sure you’re not in pain?” Malcolm nods, tears leaking, leaving trails like rivers on his face. Gil smoothes his hair back, hushing. The pain in his voice makes the tears come quicker. He can’t help but think about cocaine again, how he could really use some right now. He can’t stop, he probably won’t be able to for a very long time. It makes his eyebrows pinch a little harder, the tears a little hotter. 

Gil is so calm, he’s shushing him and holding his hand and petting his hair, as gentle as water between fingers. Malcolm doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembers Gil not being mad at him, and that’s more than he deserves already.

{}{}{}{}

Then it’s morning, and his mother and Ainsley are there, talking to Dr. Ebben, nodding along to what she says. Malcolm makes himself known by shifting on the bed. It doesn’t shoot a jab through his chest like other times and he thinks maybe he’s on more medication.

Jessica sighs in relief, and he realizes she hasn’t really seen him awake all that much. He wants her to hug him again as she did when he told her about using, like she didn’t have a care in the world besides his own health, like she forgave him, like everything was going to be okay. He watches as she approaches him, tucking at his blanket and smoothing it over his chest. Ainsley stands at the foot of the bed, her head tilted ever so slightly as her eyes run over his. 

“Hey," she mouthes. He gives her all he can in a slow blink, it’s not much but she takes it with a smile. His mother rubs her thumb on his stubble that has grown uncomfortably messy, then she sits.

“The doctor said you’re doing well,” 

Malcolm would release a breath if he could, instead the ventilator does that for him.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” 

He can see she wants to shudder but is holding herself up for him. He doesn’t know what he would have done if she fell apart. He doesn’t think he’d be able to pick up the pieces. But she’s strong. She had gone through so much, maybe a little more won’t phase her. He still hates himself for pushing against the glass, even if it doesn’t break completely.

They sit with him until Malcolm can’t handle the jab of guilt that cuts through him every time he looks to his mother, and he falls asleep listening to Ainsley talk about work drama and her jerk ex boyfriend while Jessica’s laugh softly murmurs in his ears.

{}{}{}{} 

Days go by quickly as Malcolm can’t really wake up for more than a few minutes at a time. There’s almost always someone with him; Gil, mother, Ainsley, Dani and JT. 

They talk to him a lot, but each time he wishes them to go. The guilt is heavy on his mind and the cravings aren’t getting better, setting him on edge. 

It isn’t until he wakes up one night as nurses hold him down, coming out of a night terror, that he thinks he just might not be able to do this alone. No one is there when they put restraints around his arms and leave him alone in darkness without as much as a second glance. No one is there when he lays awake and cries. He had never had much of a peaceful life, but this was a nightmare, and he was stuck inside.

Falling asleep came with more trouble than it had for some time.

When he wakes up the restraints are still there, but so is JT. He seems deep in thought, eyes staring blankly at the wall. Malcolm can’t really fathom why JT was here alone. Then again, he was the one person Malcolm didn’t feel like a complete and utter disappointment to. Maybe it made sense that JT was here, while it didn’t make sense the rest were. 

Malcolm moves, and JT is already halfway out of the chair, asking if Malcolm wants him to call Gil. Malcolm shakes his head, so JT relaxes back into his seat. 

“He’s talking to your doctor,” he says, “I think they’re talking about taking you off this annoying ass machine.” He indicates the ventilator. It hisses in response.

“Your mom’s out for lunch, if you’re wondering.” Malcolm wasn’t, he was thinking about how soft JT turned when one of his teammates were hurt. His big and tough exterior was there still, but he couldn’t help but show his gentle voice and shining eyes. Not even if he tried.

Malcolm thought it was pretty admirable, and he felt his eyes brighten. JT eyebrows furrowed. 

“You okay?” 

Before he can nod, Dr. Ebben walks in, Gil a step behind. 

JT cleared the space and went to stand next to Gil.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bright,” Dr. Ebben greets him with a smile. “Any pain today?” The pain in his chest flares up. Malcolm hesitates, then nods. 

“Okay,” she says, and goes to undo his restrains. “can you point where?”

Slowly, Malcolm lifts his hand and rests it on his chest. It rises and falls to the rhythm of the ventilator, feeling unnatural even after all this time. Dr. Ebben nods, “That would be myocarditis.” At his confused stare, she explains, “It means your heart muscles are inflamed. It can cause chest pain as well as irregular heartbeat, which can be very dangerous. I’m afraid, because myocarditis takes some time to heal, if completely, we cannot take you off the ventilator for a while longer. The risk of putting stress on both your respiratory and cardiovascular systems is high.” 

That’s it. He’s going to die here. If not physically, then mentally. His mind is going to rot inside this inexpressible prison while his body withers away into a skeleton with a beating heart. He can’t believe this is where he ended up. One stupid mistake and he’s done for. He wants to claw at his skin, scratch and break it until they sedate him into oblivion. He wants to scream. He wants to breath. 

Instead he cries. He just whimpers away, like a small child being refused candy. 

Then Gil is there and he’s wiping away his tears and asking how long. 

How long until he can get out of the hole he dug himself into. 

He doesn’t listen to her answer. He doesn’t want to know. He just shuts his eyes tight and forces it all to go away. But he can’t get away from Gil’s touch or JT’s pitying stare or the doctor’s voice. He can’t get away and it makes him wish the world would stop moving, just long enough for him to fall asleep again.


	8. Chapter 8

Malcolm is depressed. He doesn’t wake up a lot, and when he does, he falls asleep minutes later. He doesn’t look at Gil anymore, nor does he look at anyone else. 

Gil can’t begin to imagine what the kid is going through, he just wishes he could do something about it. He talks to Malcolm’s doctor and Jessica everyday, keeping up with the updates, asking each and every time about getting him off the ventilator. Each time it’s the same answer; When the inflammation in his heart goes down, then they can try.

He tried to focus on work, and the team’s working as hard as they can, but he can feel their stiffness, the heaviness of their silence where Malcolm would usually insert some piece of detective brilliance or random knowledge.

It was hard visiting Malcolm as they were closing in on a suspect, but he made it a few times a week, only to be rejected by Malcolm’s avoiding gaze. 

Whatever Malcolm was going through, with a breathing tube shoved down his throat and a feeding tube in his stomach and pain meds slowing his every move, he‘s going through withdrawal as well. Gil knew how hard that was. He saw it. Malcolm must be in pieces, and without being able to pick himself up, he goes to sleep a little more broken each time.

Jessica was alone with him one evening, when Gil came to visit. She was talking quietly, rubbing Malcolm’s hand as he slept. She heard him enter and collected herself, sitting straighter in her chair.

“They did an MRI this morning,” she sniffled. “Said the heart inflammation was going down.”

“Jess,” Gil came closer cautiously, “That’s good news.”

Jessica looked at him, nodded, then burst into tears. 

“Hey,” Gil breathed, he went to hug her across the shoulders, but she only cried harder, hand shaking where she rubbed Malcolm’s arm. “It’s good news, it’s good.”

“I know he can’t speak, but he’s just so _quiet_.” 

Gil knew what she meant. He’s not communicating, not even through the eyes. He stares blankly at whatever he can that is not the faces of others. He’s alive physically, but mentally he could be gone. Gil doesn’t want to think about it, so he squeezes Jessica’s shoulder, 

“Jessica, he’s on a lot of medication,” she looks up at him, rubbing her tears away, "but he’s improving. It’s going to be tough, I’m not saying it’s not, but we’re going to be there for him for how ever long it takes. He’s going to get out of this, he has too, I’ll fire him if he doesn’t.” She chuckles, looking at Malcolm with undeniable love. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, “you’re the best father he could have ever asked for.”

Gil doubts that, but his chest puffs up as he looks down at Malcom, and he thinks that he’s the best son he could’ve ever asked for, too.

{}{}{}{}

The days go by as Gil finds himself drowning in work. It’s hard to get back into things without the kid by their side, but eventually the team manages to continue working regularly. 

He visits as much as he can, most days Dani or JT go with him, sometimes they go together and he stays behind. 

His restless nights become more bearable, and he wakes up feeling guilty that he’s sleeping fitfully at home while Malcolm is trapped in a hospital bed. He can’t do a lot about it, so he bottles it up and shoves it to where all his other feelings lay and he gets to work.

It was a pretty day, though hot and heavy. Traffic was awful, but Gil found that he wasn’t thinking about that as he waited for the car in front of him to move. 

It’s been a month since Malcolm’s overdose.

Two weeks since they had replaced the tube in his mouth for a tracheostomy tube. It was a sight to get used to, connected to the base of his throat, and a machine was still breathing into him, but it was a something.

One week since he was strong enough to sit up in bed as they reduced the dose of the pain meds.

Dr. Ebben said he was doing well with the inflammation of his heart muscles, that in about two weeks they can try and wean him off the ventilator. Jessica has taken the news with a brilliant smile at Malcolm and a gently-firm hug with Gil. Malcolm had looked at the doctor with shiny eyes, but they quickly regained their blank stare and he turned to the wall.

A blaring honk of the car behind him jolts him out of his memories, getting him driving again. 

It’s two more weeks. Just two more, and Malcolm would be able to breathe on his own. Two weeks and he’ll be able to eat, speak, maybe he’ll walk, who knows.

The day passes painfully normal. Dani and JT are at his office for lunch, bickering about the most mundane things, but Gil listens anyway. 

/;“Any news about Malcolm?” Dani asks, having finished her argument with JT about whether Jack from Titanic had room to fit on the floating door. Gil cleared his throat.

“They’re thinking about trying to take him off the ventilator in about two weeks, maybe a little longer.” 

“Gil!” Dani almost dropped her plate, “that’s great!” JT huffed a smile.

“Dude’s probably gonna drill a hole into our skull, he’ll talk so much.” Affection hugged JT’s teasing words, and Gil couldn’t help but smile. 

He told Malcolm they weren’t going to leave his side, and he knew they weren’t going to disappoint.

{}{}{}

ICU staff makes an exception and lets Gil join Jessica and Ainsley for Malcolm’s first test of breathing on his own. 

Dr. Ebben is there, as well as a nurse. Dr. Ebben is pressing buttons on the ventilation machine, as she explains what she’s doing to Malcolm, who's awake and laying down, looking anxious as he fumbles with his hands. 

“We’re going to reduce support from the ventilator, this way you have to work a little on your own to breath. If all goes well, we can disconnect the ventilator for a few hours and see how you do. Ready?” 

Malcolm nods, biting his lip and settling more comfortably on the bed. 

The doctor presses a button.

Nothing seems to change. The ventilator is hissing and buzzing. Malcolm’s chest rises and falls slowly. But then Gil sees the kid’s face. It’s like he’s thinking really hard about something, eyes shut and eyebrows hugging. 

He’s doing it. 

He’s breathing.

A smile breaks Gil’s face as soon as Ainsley asks if it’s working. Gil registers the doctor’s answer; They have to wait at least thirty minutes before they can be sure Malcolm doesn’t fail the weaning process, but it’s sits in the back of his mind as he takes in the rise and fall of his chest. Slow and steady. 

Then Jessica hugs him and he hugs back, laughing. They wait the whole thirty minutes, watching, talking more excitedly with each passing minute. The nurse stays but Dr. Ebben only comes to check on him when the time is up, reading off words from the screen that Gil doesn’t understand. 

And then she’s disconnecting the ventilator completely and taking out the connecting tube, which leaves a smaller, open one, sticking out of his throat. She then places an oxygen mask over his nose and Gil is even more giddy because Malcolm did it.

He fought off a heart infection, a respiratory failure and a drug overdose and he’s breathing now. He’s breathing. breathing, breathing, breathing.

Malcolm looks to them when the doctor steps away and Gil can see the relief threatening to burst out of his eyes as he’s able to draw his own breaths. He reaches out a hand, it’s the first type of communicating he’s done with his family in weeks, so Jessica rushes to his side to take it, Gil and Ainsley close behind.

“I’m right here,” Jessica murmurs, and Malcolm, for the first time in a long time, doesn’t look away.

{}{}{}

Recovery goes smoothly from there. A few days of going off the ventilator for a few hours a day, then it’s removed completely along with the tracheostomy tube. 

Dr. Ebben assigns him a speech therapist, so he can learn to swallow food and fluids, and eventually talk. 

They work hard, Gil or Jessica always with them, so when they remove the feeding tube and Malcolm starts eating on his own, they’re there to pet him on the shoulder and give him bright smiles. 

When he can talk, he barely does. He shakes and nods his head, but only makes sounds for the speech exercises. 

Gil thinks it’s because it’s still hard for him. But as the days go by, and he’s transferred to a step-down unit, and he gets stronger minute by minute, he still doesn’t talk.

“What’s going on, kid?” When Gil manages to get a moment alone with him, he sits down with his elbows on his knees and a soft look on his face. Malcolm looks at him as if he doesn’t know what he wants. Gil knows he does, but he indulges in him.

“Why aren’t you talking?” 

Malcolm shrugs and let’s out a breath. It seems as if he couldn’t stop doing that ever since he could breath through the mouth.

Gil hesitates. 

“How are you feeling, really?” 

Malcolm goes to say something, but stops before air leaves his throat. he’s debating what to say, eyes pulled away from Gil’s gaze. Eventually he settles on saying nothing at all, shrugs his shoulders again, and looks to the window. Gil stops himself from getting frustrated. He has to be patient, he knows, but he couldn’t help but feel that Malcolm was in deep distress, and if he doesn’t talk about it, then what can Gil do to help?

He sighs.

Then Malcolm swings his legs over the bed and goes to stand up. Gil is there to catch him when he falls. 

Dr. Ebben has explained to them about muscle weakness after staying so long in bed, about starting physical therapy, Malcolm knew he couldn’t stand without help, if at all.

“Woah! Hey, what? Bathroom?”

Malcolm shook his head. He looked furious, breathing heavily against Gil’s hand on his chest, holding him up.

“Sit down, Bright.”

Malcolm’s shaking, but he won’t listen to Gil. 

“I—“ he says, breathing even more heavily as the single word comes out.

“I _can’t_ ,” 

Gil nods his head, but still pushes him down to sit. “Sit down, tell me what’s wrong,” 

Malcolm, drained of energy after standing for two seconds, sits heavily. his body relaxes as his muscles stop working, and he lets out a shaky breath. Gil swoops his legs up to the bed when it seems Malcolm can’t do it on his own. He sits back down, exhaling.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Gil’s voice is calm, but Malcolm looks irritated as he folds his hands over his chest and sulks. 

Gil doesn’t want to push, but he can’t help himself.

“Malcolm,” 

“I’m tired, Gil.” His voice is quick, terse. 

Gil was nodding, waiting for him to continue,

“I’m tired, and I’m angry, and I want out of here and I want—“ he stopped, looking down, unwrapping his arms and staring at his trembling hands.

“A fix.” Gil said. Malcolm chin trembled as he looked up, 

“It’s not that bad anymore, I promise,” he looked up at him, eyes pleading, as if Gil could help, could make it go away. Gil wished he could. He would take the kid’s pain in a heartbeat, not thinking about it twice, not regretting it once. 

“but, I just,” He twists his face in disgust, 

“Kid, I meant it when I said we’ll get you out of this.” It might have been a long time ago, but Gil would see his promise through. He stood up, hand going to squeeze Malcolm’s shoulder. “Do you trust me?” Malcolm head shot up, eyebrows raised. He nodded quickly. 

“Then believe me when I say, you’re going to get through this, and I’m not going anywhere while you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are literally the best when it comes to commenting! I aprreciate it a ton! all my love to you guys <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks, I hope the ending is satisfying enough ;) 
> 
> Again, thank you all sooooo much for all the kind comments and kudoses! I appreciate each and everyone! you guys really made me the happiest!
> 
> hope you enjoy :)

The day before Malcolm got discharged, a man came to visit him in his hospital room, now in a regular unit, no more needing to be checked on every hour of every day.

The man was around Gil’s age, had intense brown eyes and bronze skin. He introduced himself as Lewis from Mount Sinai Rehabilitation Center. 

Malcolm tensed when he heard those words. He never expected to like hearing them, but they hit him like a ton of bricks, crashed on him like a wave made of razor blades. It threatened to cut him open and expose his soul. His weak, vulnerable soul. But he couldn’t escape it, not with his body nor with his mind. So, muscles tense, heart pounding, he sat with mother and Gil, and listened to what Lewis had to say.

Lewis talked about their inpatient and outpatient programs, about therapy and detox, which he mentioned Malcolm had gone through while being in ICU.

He asked Malcolm how he was feeling, then explained that the anger and depression and cravings were all part of the process of fighting addiction.

Jessica held his hand when she asked Lewis why he still had cravings after all this time. How longer should he have them still.

Apparently being in a stressful situation, such as supported by a ventilator for a long time, could trigger cravings. Apparently a lot of things could trigger cravings. 

Cravings could last a long time, he added, it depends on the person. 

As such, the safest option was an inpatient program. 

Malcolm shook his head. 

“I want to go _home_.” Maybe it was the desperation pulling at his vocal cords, or the the fact that they wanted him home too, but Jessica and Gil had been on his side, saying that he hasn’t been home in such a long time, it’ll probably do _some_ good to go.

Eventually they settled on an outpatient rehabilitation with daily programs while Malcolm stayed at his mother’s home, just to be safe.

Malcolm guessed this was the best he was going to get at the moment. 

{}{}{}{}

They moved a bed to one of the offices on the first floor of the house he grew up in, as Malcom couldn’t really climb the stairs. 

Mother hired the best physiotherapist she could find, which came in every day to help Malcolm with exercises to get his muscle mass up.

They even brought Sunshine to his office-bedroom to cheer him up.

Malcolm should be feeling fine. All he could wish for had been given to him. He was alive, almost completely healthy, at home, supported by his friends and family every hour of every day. 

Yet every time he woke up in the morning, he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. His lungs never got enough air. His heart never pumped enough blood into his veins. 

He wished he could walk away, get away from the clean sun and crawl somewhere dark and deep, where no one would find him.

But his legs give up on him after 5 minutes of standing and his mind had given up on him long ago.

Waking up in a sweat most days had not come as surprise, but it sure did put him into more stress. He wasn’t on pain medication that made him sleepy and he found that he missed how the days went by quickly as they had when he was. Sleep deprivation made him even more tired when it came to physical therapy, so progress was slow.

But physical progress was one thing. He still had to go to these infuriating days at the Rehabilitation Center. Sitting in a wheelchair, he had therapy sessions, group therapy, art and music therapy. therapy, therapy, therapy.

It’s not like it mattered. He couldn’t get up for enough time to even leave the house, let alone get _drugs_.

But mother and Gil were insistent, so he went. That didn’t mean he had to talk. 

“I got a call from Lewis today,” His mother 

had barged into his room with less a joyful energy than usual, sitting down on the chair they put near his bed, so they can keep a close, comfortable eye on him.

“He says you’re not cooperating.”

Malcolm groaned and turned away to his side. He couldn’t help but get angry, talking about feelings you didn’t want to think about was harder than one would think, and every time Malcolm opened his mouth to say something during private therapy sessions he found himself lost for words.

“I don’t know what he wants, I go, don’t I?” 

“It’s not about going, it’s about participating.” Jessica’s voice was hard but patient. She just wanted him to get better, he knew. Lewis wanted that, too, and Malcolm could feel guilt catching up to his anger, and he turned to look at his mother.

“I know this isn’t easy Malcolm,” she said, her hand coming to rest on top of his clean, smooth hair. “All you need to do is talk to us, we can help.”

Malcolm thought about that. Talking had always been one of his strong suits, but when it came to this, it was just so embarrassing, humiliating, _shameful_.

Talking to therapists, knowing all the tricks hidden up their sleeves, yet not being able to predict their next words, it set him on edge. But then, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that way he’ll really be able to get what he needs. 

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll talk.”

The smile his mom gave him already made sure he didn’t regret his decision.

{}{}{}{}

“I... wanted to die.”

“That doesn’t seem unusual.” 

Malcolm raised his eyes cautiously to his private therapist, Anthony. Anthony watched him closely, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“It doesn’t?” Malcolm voice was quiet, confusion sitting at the edge of his tongue.

“Well, you were trapped. When we feel trapped, we usually develop feelings of despair, not unlikely to lead to thoughts of death. Being in ICU must have been really hard, I can’t begin to understand. But I do understand despair, and it’s a dangerous feeling, Malcolm. Which is why I have to ask if you still have thoughts about dying.”

Malcolm shook his head. He didn’t know if Anthony believed him, though, as he didn’t move. 

“Any other reason you think might have lead to you wanting to die?” 

“Guilt.” That piqued Anthony’s interest, and he leaned forward to grab his notepad and pen. 

“What did you feel guilty about?” 

“Everyone was there. My mother and sister, my team. Two of which had to watch me overdose, one of which had the same addiction, long ago.“ Malcolm shrugged. 

“They knew what I did, yet they stuck around. I guess I’ll never understand why.”

“Feeling guilt is not unusual as well, when it comes to addiction. But your case is different Malcolm, you were forced into one, you couldn’t help it.”

“I could help it once I got back home.”

He twisted his mouth, biting down on the inside of cheek. “I chose to keep doing it.”

“Yes, but once addicted, that is a hard choice not to make.” Malcolm scoffed. “It’s true. You were dependent on the drug, not only mentally, physically as well.”

Anthony paused.

“Why do you think your family shouldn’t be supportive? When you had no choice but use the drug?” Malcolm shrugged. 

“I assumed I didn’t deserve it.”

“Would you assume the same thing if it was one of your friends or family who were in ICU for something they couldn’t bring themselves to control?”

The question twisted Malcolm’s heart. 

If it was someone he cared about, stuck in ICU, unable to move or speak or breath, would he assume they didn’t deserve his support? How could Anthony even ask that?

“Of course not.” He said. “I would be there any chance I could. It wouldn’t even be their fault, no one wants to end up in the hospital...” he trailed off at Anthony’s raised eyebrows.

Oh.

Malcolm took a deep breath, raising his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I see what you did there.”

Anthony smiled. He didn’t smile much, Malcolm noticed. He had kind of a cocky smile, eyes gleaming, but it was a kind one, so Malcolm found himself smiling back.

Outside of the rehabilitation center the sun was setting, another day spent talking and participating in therapeutic activities. As he sat down in the car, not so exhausted from the walk, Malcolm found that he didn’t mind as much. 

He felt better. A lot better, in fact. The cravings had gone down like a sack of potatoes thrown from a window, and even if they came climbing up the stairs sometimes, he just threw them out again. As he started moving around on his own, dressing up alone, and exercising more, so was his mind liberated from the cages of his anger and frustration. 

Smiling brighter and brighter every time Dani and JT showed up had elevated their uncomfortableness, too, and they talked more and more about anything they could think of. Cases they had while he was unable to work had been the most interesting, by far, but he was happy to talk to his team about anything.

When he finally moved back to his apartment, Gil or his mother or Ainsley were there every waking moment. Malcolm had to ask Anthony to give them a call and explain that he was doing well enough to be on his own. They relented, letting him be, and he felt himself relax against his familiar bed, falling asleep without too much trouble.

It was the day before returning to work that he couldn’t sleep. Deciding to take a walk to calm his excited energy, he let his mind wander away. It was chilly outside, the breeze picking up his hair and jacket. In the dim street lights he thought about how much tired he would have been, walking here a month ago. He thought about how he wouldn’t be able to walk now if not for his family. What he didn’t think about was where he was going.

Starting up an ally, he noticed a dark silhouette standing around, waiting for something, or someone. Ignoring the alarm bells going off in his head, which Gil would probably disapprove of, he continued walking.

“Looking for something to cheer you up?”

Malcolm stopped. This can’t happen, this was the worst thing that could happen right now. The man, upon seeing Malcolm stop, took a step closer.

“Oh, you do, don’t ya’?” Malcolm’s hand began shaking, he had to move, get away, do anything at all. But he found that he couldn’t. He stood frozen, unable to look away from the man who was smiling up at him, barely seeable in the dark.

“I have everything, anything you want. Purest you’ll find, too!” 

Malcolm couldn’t breathe. 

_Nothing_ had set such a strong trigger before. All he could think about was dopamine dancing in his mind, making his nerves fade away, making everything better. The rush. The bliss. The fact that, maybe he could hide it better this time. 

Before he could say anything, Gil popped into his mind, staring at him with soft but warning eyes. Then his mother, holding him, telling him everything was going to be alright. Ainsley holding his hand, Dani talking to him softly, JT making jokes to make him comfortable. They had been there, hadn’t given up on him like he did on himself. Pulled him up from the ocean into warm hugs and soft blankets. They had given him everything he needed, and more. 

Nothing could compare to that. Nothing ever would. 

Malcolm clenched his shaking hand, shook his head and stepped back.

“No,” he said. 

“I’m good.”


End file.
